


et perit omne tactus

by Hierarchical



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Feels, Gen, Growing Up, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierarchical/pseuds/Hierarchical
Summary: Kaede's been so busy with life that she hasn't been able to play the piano in a while…
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	et perit omne tactus

Every day, Kaede used to hide away in her room and play the piano—it was her favorite pastime. To her, it’s the easiest thing in the world to get lost in the melodies of songs she’s played a thousand times over. But every time, it feels like a fresh experience… since she’s never played a song the same way twice. She has fun bending the rules, adding in an extra note or changing to melody every so often to reflect her emotions. Her favorite song is Clair de Lune—it’s almost comical how much she loves it. 

It’s all she ever talks about with her friends—not that they mind, of course. They’re always happy to let her ramble about the intricacies of the song and how deeply it reflected Debussy’s heartache. _A waltz in the dead of night is the perfect way to describe it,_ she’s told them dozens of times—and they all smile, happy to see how enthusiastic she is.

Recently, though, she hasn’t had the time to play. Managing school, college applications, and a part-time job proved more than a little difficult, but she managed. Just… her hobbies had to fall to the wayside for a bit.

“When’s the last time I played?” Kaede wonders aloud. 

It’s been months. That’s why her fingers feel so stiff nowadays, isn’t it?

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she stands from her desk and flexes her fingers. She should definitely remedy that. She had already finished half of the mountain of homework she had to do… So, maybe she could spare some time for just _one_ song…

But she doesn’t want to get distracted…

Deciding felt like two imps were playing tug of war with her heart. She never thought she’d see the day where she’d pick _anything_ over playing piano… Maybe this was one of the byproducts of ‘growing up’ that adults told her would come. Falling out of love with the things she was interested in…

That was the last thing she had wanted. From as long as she could remember, she had been married to the piano downstairs—and she was determined not to let that change… But she also wanted to focus on her grades… Relying on a music scholarship, even if she was known as an ‘ultimate’ to many, was a risk that she wasn’t sure was worth taking; the fact that she hadn’t done any shows in God-knows-how-long didn’t help either…

_Ugh, what am I doing!? Why can’t I decide!?_

The choice used to be so easy; so easy that she was getting frustrated with herself. She brought a firm hand to her cheek, almost as if she was trying to smack the passion back into her. It worked somewhat—it got her legs to at least move towards the stairs.

_One song! Just one song! Kaede, you can totally play one song!_

One song is only a few minutes long, and she can drag herself away from work for a few minutes. She can, she can, she can.

She stops—a wave of doubt washing over her. The piano is only a room away now, but her question isn’t: _Do I have time?_ anymore. It’s: _Can I do this?_

It’s a weird thought. Playing the piano to her was the easiest thing in the world. Even a tone-deaf toddler could do it! She _was_ that tone-deaf toddler once, so she should know! But just… thinking about playing now is scary.

Another slap; this time with both hands and harder. She might be out of practice, but she _can_ do this if she just believes…

Kaede takes a deep breath and begins walking again. She lives an upper-class lifestyle, so her house is pretty big—but it feels bigger today. And yet, the walls are suffocating. Each step in the hallway feels like she’s moved a centimeter at most, and after a couple of steps, she has to stop to catch her breath. In the portraits of her and her twin sister, she sees only herself—her own amethyst eyes boring holes into her soul. They can see all of her: her faults, her fears, her insecurities. Even the ones she’s not aware of.

At least that’s what she thinks.

Kaede’s never felt like this before. She can’t help but admit she’s been overworked, so maybe the fact that she’s never had a break has been sending her a bit mad? She’s read on the internet that people have gone crazy from working too hard before. Maybe she should tell her mother she needs to go to the doctor.  
But not until she plays _one song._ Even though she feels weird—feels nervous—she’s determined to play Clair de Lune again. It’s on the playlist that she listens to every day, but it isn’t the same as actually playing it.

She huffs, places a hand against the wall, and speeds down the hallway, her eyes squeezed shut. She hears a door open and close—her sister, no doubt—but she hears nothing else. No _Are you okay, Kaede?_ or _Why are your eyes shut?_ Admittedly, she’s done odder around her before, but still… the sentiment would’ve been nice.

Her eyes open once she finally arrives in a room she thinks is the piano room. She’s right. It’s felt like an eternity since she’s been here. Even though it’s only been a few months, it smells stuffier than usual, and she can see the specks of dust floating in the air. That’s expected, though. It _has_ been months, and her mother never comes to clean this room. She says that it would be like scrubbing away the memory of her father. 

Maybe she’ll give the piano a quick rub down when she has more time. Once the thought crosses her mind, she walks towards it and examines it. It’s covered in cobwebs and dust, too. The sight makes Kaede recoil. She’s never let it _ever_ get like this. Taking good care of her piano had _always_ been her number one priority… Especially since it’s the last thing her father left her.

After the initial shock comes guilt; Kaede feels so guilty, in fact, that she has a hard time even looking at the piano. A little voice within her tells her to go back upstairs, but Kaede is convinced that it has to be the devil on her shoulder. Only someone like that would make her do something so cruel after walking through the trenches of fear and misery just to get there.

She takes another glance at the piano and her stomach churns. She’s both excited and nervous. Excited because she finally gets to play again, but she can’t quite pin down why she’s nervous. For a moment, she thinks that it’s because she's worried that she might make a mistake, but she knows she can’t. She’s a prodigy when it comes to all things musical.

Kaede takes a couple seconds to remember the melody in her head and then imagine it in the way she wants to play it before she’s finally ready.

Sitting on the piano bench made Kaede feel as she had just reunited with an old friend from elementary school. It was the same one she used when she had first started to play, and sure, the ebony gloss had faded and the yellow foam poked out of the red satin cushion—but it was _her_ piano bench.

_It’s finally time! I can do this!_

Both the excitement and nervousness amplify the moment her fingers touch the keys, and those emotions guide her hand—guide the melody. The song is slow and somber. And Kaede feels like she’s a preschooler learning how to play Mary Had a Little Lamb.

She hates it. Hates how she’s playing. How slow it is frustrates her, since she wanted to make her reunion with her old friend quick and upbeat like she was swing dancing with a trusted partner. And midway through the song, she does something that she never thought she could. She messes up.

Her jaw nearly drops to the ground. She wasn’t even sure if she could believe what had happened. Kaede could never remember the last time she messed up—much less the last time she messed up _Clair de Lune._ It’s so devastating to her that she has to pace around the room like a chicken with its head cut off.

Her mind races with thoughts that she mostly can’t distinguish or focus on. She doesn’t mind acknowledging the ones where she’s trying to justify her failure, though.

Maybe I’m just tired, or rusty, or my fingers just hurt. I should do some warmups.

Kaede flexes her fingers frantically and attempts to pull her fingers back so far that her nails almost touch her wrist. She doesn’t quite feel the pain, since she’s so focused on getting it right this time. 

Once she’s ready to play again, Kaede sits and goes through a few of the songs in the Hanon Exercises. She does them flawlessly, playing the songs mechanically and as they were intended, just in case. _Now_ she was ready.

Or so she thought. The second time around, she messes up again, even quicker than the last time. Rage bubbles up inside of her and she slams her hands on the keyboard, making a garish sound that brings more tears to her eyes than any beautiful symphony ever could. She feels like such an… amateur…

How is it she can’t do the thing she’s _good at!?_ Is she really _that_ out of practice!?

No matter how she tries to rationalize it, it makes no sense to her. She _knows_ that people can be out of practice, and she _knows_ that people out of practice mess up, but not her… She’s a prodigy… And even if she wasn’t, she worked too hard just to be back at square one!

Despondency made itself a home in Kaede’s head, consuming every one of her thoughts like they were a buffet. She had always tried to be a positive person, but how could she be in a situation like this!? It feels like her world was crumbling around her… and funnily enough, she can’t be too sure why.

The way she sees things, she _just_ messed up. She _knows_ that even if she was out of practice, she can get better again and play the song as well as she could a few months ago. She even knows that there’s the possibility that she might’ve just had an off day. To her, it’s nothing she should cry about, because it’s stupid, but she can’t help it. Because it feels right to cry.

She’s not sure if she’s imagining it, but she feels something soft and warm embrace her. She knows it’s nobody in her family, since her mother or sister would usually try to speak with her before doing anything like this, but she’s too misty-eyed to be sure and too sad to care…  
After a good ten minutes of crying, she stands and wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her dress shirt. She feels better now. Still sad, still disappointed, but better. She spares one last glance at the piano and runs her fingers along the edge of the cover.

She’ll be back again tomorrow. If she has the time.


End file.
